I don't much care for Neko Case. I don't know why--maybe it's her voice or her phrasing or the production of her songs. Maybe I have something against Canadians or redheads; I couldn't really tell you. However, it's the opinion of some that I should try harder: I should try this album and that album and whatever. But to those people, I say, ya'll--don't worry about it. I can accept that Neko Case and I will spend our lives asunder. It's okay with me, and also probably fine with Neko Case.
But I'll give her this: Neko Case writes really good songs, and I love it when other people sing them. Just about anybody else, actually. Like these two girls sitting in a stairwell:
Audrey's home from Texas for a few days and last night we did the usual: went out to eat and came home and watched Robyn videos and talked about what we'd wear if we had Beyoncé's boobs. Then this happened (Caution: patently NSFW...or anyplace else you're supposed to keep it half-way decent, especially starting around minute 1:47):
And so last night, Audrey and I made an important discovery: just because David Attenborough is narrating it, doesn't mean it's not nasty.
You see what I'm doing here? It's a pretty simple discomfort avoidance technique in which I replace a high-priority action with a low-priority task. Because today, my babies, I am supposed to be writing about plant cell biology. And Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Bless'd Donkey, you guys--it's no wonder nobody likes plants. I mean, I used to like plants until this morning when I discovered they're terrible. It's been a real blow to the old psyche, actually: like if I met Paul Newman and discovered he was really boring. In a few weeks I'll have to write about animal cells and start hating animals. I'll be a regular old misomanic you guys! Get ready.
So instead of reading about tonoplast and the rough endoplasmic reticulum, I was thinking I'd tell you about Bryan's idea for a mall kiosk.
So, Bryan really loves coming up with ridiculous ideas and because he's had so much practice, he's really good at it. One of my favorites came out of this one time around Christmas when he spent a day at at the Mall of Georgia with our friend Ricky and his parents, Big Rick and Mildred Ann. The Mall of Georgia is humongous and exactly the place Bryan doesn't ever want to be, because what if he were to die in there and his last minutes were spent on the threshold of an Abercrombie and Fitch?
At any rate, Bryan never goes in malls, but he came back from this trip a changed man. When he got home, he was like, "Did you know there are all these little kiosks in malls now? Like little booths where you can buy covers for your cell phone? Anyway, I'm going to open a mall kiosk where people can buy vests and ponchos. It's going to be called Poncho and Vesty."
Let it be known that this was several years ago, before the poncho craze swept the nation (people were more into blazers back then), and for some reason, I found the idea of Poncho and Vesty so hilarious that it really encouraged him. And sometimes when he doesn't have anything better to do, he goes online and researches merchandise he'll stock at Poncho and Vesty. He was doing that the other night while I was writing an article about vestigial human organs. And I think he's looking to go in this general direction:
And I was like, "Damn babe, that's like more of a cape, or like a traveler's cloak or something, don't you think? And it's, uh...$408 wholesale."
Bryan: Well yeah. See Poncho and Vesty's main clientele are going to be SCA guys suiting up for a week-long tactical campaign.
OMG you guys, I have the biggest crush on the sun.
Isn't he gorgeous?
This is the time of year when I start thinking about how awesome it would be to live on Mercury.
So, I'm just going to put it out there: I've been considering it, and if I absolutely have to die, I think my preferred way to go would be to crash a luxury spaceship into the sun. But it would take about 176 years to get there, so that's kind of too much of a hassle. So I guess my second choice would be to die peacefully in my sleep under an electric blanket at the age of 102. My third would probably be to freeze to death saving a school bus full of Asian toddlers and tiny foxes. I haven't worked out all the logistics of that last one, but I'll get back to you.
So, last night Vicki and I were complaining about how busy we all the time are, and the subject of extramarital affairs came up: namely, how anybody ever manages to find the time to have one.
I know, I know: where there's a will, there's a way.
But listen you guys, I'm currently working a full-time job in addition to a halftime job, in addition to being the mother of a toddler, the household chef, shopper, bathroom cleaner, and I'm on two nonprofit boards. Plus, I have to shower sometimes. So, there is literally not one hour of any given day when my time isn't spoken for in some legitimate way. However, I know that there are a lot busier people out there who are, like me and Vic, married to men and women of character. Or, you know, maybe not of character, but it doesn't really actually matter.... The point is a lot of those people find the time to seriously mega-philander. Take JFK, for instance. That guy, you guys: he was the PRESIDENT. He had a 24-hour security detail, and he managed to get it on with....god, so many women who weren't his wife.
So, like I said, people accomplish the things in their life that really matter to them. And if boning matters that much, you'll find a way to get it done.
But for average people...who even has the time? I mean, people do--all the time. I'm just not sure I understand how. Vicki and I were talking about it, and we came up with a list of occupations that would actually jibe with the adulterer's lifestyle. Here's the list, but I want you to feel free to come up with your own ideas.
Flight attendant, duh
Message therapist, duh
Actual therapist or any client-based occupation wherein you're always having to make appointments.
Ice cream truck driver
Traveling pharmaceutical salesperson
People without children
Somebody with a part time job and also a trust fund who also teaches yoga.
Prince. You know, like the Prince of Someplace, but also just Prince.
Because obviously, she's down for whatever.
So, I'm not asking why people cheat because I realize that's very complicated and situation-specific. But there are people out there who have like TWO SEPARATE FAMILIES that remain blissfully unaware of each other. How do those people manage it? AND WHY? I'm pretty sure I'd rather do open-faced surgery on myself with a fork. Just thinking about it is giving me ulcerative colitis.
Speaking of which, I've got to write an essay about Marie Curie now. Who, it turns out, had a relationship with a married man after Pierre got hit by a horse-drawn carriage.
Marie!? Weren't you supposed to be in the lab isolating radium-cholride or something?! Good Lord.